


Sudden Fiction

by ScoutsDesk



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Fighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoutsDesk/pseuds/ScoutsDesk
Summary: collection of drabbles about ducksfluff and angst within





	1. "I was never angry with you."

“I was never angry with you.”

Lena scrubbed at her eyes and flipped her bangs out of her face. She scoffed. “Why would I care if you were angry or not?”

Beakley sighed, sitting on the edge of Lena’s bed. “That’s not the issue here, Lena.”

“Then what is? Cause I have shit to do if you’re just going to waste my time.”

“Language.”

“Fuck you.”

Beakley took a moment to breathe and adjust her spectacles. “I’ll wait until you’re feeling a bit more mature.”

Lena sniffled, rubbing at her eyes with her sweater sleeve. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes before Lena took a deep breath. “Why do you care?”

“Would you like to be more specific?”

Lena groaned and flopped back on her pillows, one arm draped over her eyes. “Not really.”

Beakley rolled her eyes. “Then I can’t answer the question.”

“…why do you care about me?”

There was a beat of silence. “…excuse me?”

“Don’t make me say it again, Tea Time.” Lena mumbled.

The older woman rested a hand on her shoulder, her brow furrowing in concern when the teenager didn’t shove her away. “I don’t quite understand what you’re asking me.”

“I just don’t get it, okay? There’s no reason for you to give a shit about me but here you are trying to explain yourself for yelling at me. I deserved it!”

“No, I lost my temper and I was sharp with you. You don’t deserve someone raising their voice at you just because they’re upset.”

“Okay, you’re literally not making any sense.”

“How so?”

Lena spread her arms dramatically and scowled at the ceiling. “You didn’t just yell cause you were upset. You were upset because I  _made_  you upset. It was my fault, so I deserved to get yelled at. That’s how it works, Super Nanny.”

Beakley massaged her temples. “No, Lena, that’s not how it works.”

“That’s exactly how it works, actually.”

“Lena—”

“Wow, B, I didn’t think you were the kind of person to invalidate a child’s own personal experiences. That’s really harsh.”

Beakley grumbled to herself and rolled her eyes. But then she looked down at Lena. The girl’s eyes were spilling over with tears. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest, shoulders shaking. Lena wasn’t looking at her, instead she was glaring up at the ceiling. Beakley immediately softened. She grasped Lena’s arm again, watching as Lena’s shaking died down. “I’m not trying to invalidate your experiences. I understand that the home you left was much different from the home you have now.”          

“Yeah, that’s the understatement of the century.”

“ _But_ , that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore where you’re coming from. I understand that this is a real change. I need you to know that you are loved in this house. When I raised my voice at you, it was not appropriate. I was frustrated and I didn’t express it very well at all.”

Lena sniffled and wiped her eyes again.

“I know I frightened you when I yelled. And I’m sorry.” She brushed Lena’s bangs out of her eyes. Lena didn’t push her away. “I was never angry with you.”

Lena didn’t say anything in response. But, she did roll onto her side towards Beakley and let her continue to brush her fingers through her hair. She was sniffling again. The two sat in silence for a while. Lena ended up curled into Beakley’s side, letting Beakley wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“…okay.”

“What was that?”

“I said okay. That…I get you weren’t mad. It’s okay.”

Beakley let out a low sigh and smiled. She gave Lena’s shoulders another tight squeeze. “Would you like to help me make the cookies for our lunches this week?”

“Only if I get to pack extras.”

“Sounds fair enough.”

 

 


	2. Crepitus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crep·i·tus:  
> ˈkrepədəs/  
> noun  
> a grating sound or sensation produced by friction between bone and cartilage or the fractured parts of a bone.

It had happened very fast.

The majority of the bullying in school usually happened in the lunchroom because it was crowded and loud and the monitors could only see so much. This particular day, Chase Vogel was leaning against Huey, Dewey, and Louie’s table while running his mouth.

Louie stared blandly at the older boy, nonchalantly eating his sandwich. He kicked Dewey under the table every time it seemed like his smart mouthed brother was going to send a quip back. Huey was holding his plastic spoon in a tight fist, his unopened Jell-O the last thing in his lunch box.

The boys had a system when dealing with bullies. It was Louie’s job to keep Dewey from talking; Dewey’s job was to discreetly keep a hold on Huey in the event he lost his temper. Huey found it was his job to just stay quiet and focus on not tackling whoever was bothering his brothers.

It was a little harder today because Chase would just not stop. He was a grade ahead of them and puberty had seemingly granted him the confidence to say the nastiest things he could think of. Of course, he started with poking fun at their “color coding” between outfits, lunchboxes, and backpacks.

Dewey had responded, “What, you’ve never heard of having a favorite color?”

Chase moved on to talking about their personalities. Huey was a nerd. Dewey was a spaz. Louie was a lazy flake. They all shrugged it off after Louie kicked Dewey to make him swallow his comeback.

The bully was persistent and started asking questions about their parents and why their mom was never around. Did she leave their dad? Divorce him? Abandon them cause they suck so much?

That was a little harder to ignore but they managed. They didn’t want to correct him that Uncle Donald wasn’t their dad because elementary school showed them that was just more ammunition for jerks to work with. They wondered why Chase seemed so determined to get a rise out of the three of them but that didn’t necessarily matter. What mattered was not getting in trouble again for fighting as they often had years prior. Well, Huey was the one who started fights and Dewey was the one who verbally instigated them. Both always argued for self defense (or defense of others in Huey’s case). Louie always rolled his eyes and kept an eye on his brothers so he could stop the fights before they started.

Dewey and Louie were ignoring Chase reasonably well until they heard Huey’s voice sound out with a vibrating anger.

“What did you just say?”

Dewey grabbed his brother’s wrist as a precautionary measure. “Hue…” he whispered in warning.

Chase’s grin became almost predatory. “I said that your stupid dad is–“

Huey didn’t wait for him to finish. Before Dewey could even try to hold him back, the boy had launched himself on top of the lunch table and tackled Chase to the floor. Huey sat on Chase’s chest, pinning down his shoulders with his knees and fired blow after blow at the larger boy’s face.

Chase was yelling, seeming entirely surprised by this turn of events. He tried to block the punches Huey was throwing but somehow Huey managed to land most of them. Huey had one fist balled up in Chase’s collar with his other doing its best to purple every inch of Chase’s face.

As quickly as Huey got the drop, it was over when Chase thought to fight back instead of be on the defensive. It was a pure stroke of luck that he managed to land a hit but as Dewey and Louie were scrambling over to pull their brother off the bully, they saw Chase’s fist connect right between Huey’s eyes.

Huey’s head snapped back and he lost his grip on Chase’s shirt, giving the kid the opportunity to push him off and stand up. Huey hit the ground hard but immediately stood up and lunged at Chase again. He hit the ground once more when Louie tackled him and quickly pulled him into a bear hug. Dewey stood protectively next to his brothers, seeming almost as ready as Huey was to give Chase a beating.

Huey was screaming at Louie to let him go, thrashing his legs in an attempt to shake free. Louie was steadily chanting at his brother to stop, breathe, calm down. Dewey stood in front of Huey to block his view of Chase who looked less startled and more angry at that point.

“What’s your problem, Duck? Are you crazy?” he shouted.

The lunch monitors had rushed over and were standing between the bully and the triplets. Chase was rambling on about the events leading up to the fight that were clearly untrue and Huey was just yelling. Dewey looked back at his brother to help calm him down and felt his body go cold.

There was blood pouring out of Huey’s nose and tears from his eyes. His face was flushed red either from his endless yelling or his fight or both. There was a deep color pooling under his eyes beneath the skin. Dewey felt his hands clenching into fists and his head snapped to look at Chase. He wanted very badly to start the fight up again.

“Dewey!” he heard his younger brother yell at him. “Don’t! It’ll only make things worse!” Dewey turned back and kneeled in front of his brothers. His anger was still raging but instead of blowing up he turned his energy towards calming Huey.

Dewey placed his hands on either side of his brother’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Huey! Huey, c’mon, you gotta calm down.”

The anger was a fire in Huey’s eyes. “Did you hear what he said!?” he yelled. “I’m gonna kick his ass!”

Louie adjusted his hold. “You already did, you nerd!” he yelled back. Dewey frowned as Huey seemed to startled back into reality. His struggling slowed down and his eyes grew wide.

Huey’s chin dropped towards his chest. He noticed the blood that had been dripping from his nose onto Louie’s sleeves. The pain in his face suddenly became very noticeable and he felt his heart racing. “Oh, man…” he whispered to himself.

Dewey took his hands off Huey’s face and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay, dude. You’ll get in trouble but it’s okay in the long run.”

Louie loosened his grip slightly. “Can I let you go now?”

Huey nodded and Louie let him go. The three brothers stood up and were immediately set upon by two of the lunch monitors. One was a teacher they didn’t know and the other they had for homeroom.

The teacher they didn’t know grabbed Huey roughly by the arm who let it happen and kept his head down, blood and tears still dropping from his face. Their homeroom teacher leaned down to look Huey in the face and handed him a wad of napkins. “Huey?” she spoke quietly. “Hold these under your nose and keep your head down, okay? Don’t squeeze.”

Huey nodded and did as she asked.

“We’re going to go to the principal’s office and call your parents, alright?” She looked over at Louie and Dewey. “You boys are coming, too.”

As the boys nodded, they heard Chase protesting to another lunch monitor. “What? I didn’t do anything! The kid just flipped! Why am I in trouble!?”

The monitor put a hand on his shoulder. “Zero tolerance policy, Mr. Vogel. Let’s go.”

All three triplets winced. Zero tolerance meant that it likely wasn’t just Huey who was going to be facing the music. But, well, that wasn’t exactly new.

Seated in the principal’s office, Huey, Dewey, and Louie had pulled their chairs as close together as they could be. Dewey and Louie placed Huey in between them, both with arms draped around his shoulders. Huey’s nose had stopped bleeding and the secretary had very nicely and gently cleaned him up. He had nodded silently when the nurse assured nothing was broken. The center of his face was pulsing and when he caught his reflection in the windows of the office, he saw dark bruises forming under both of his eyes.

Chase was looking worse for wear with swollen red patches blooming along the left side of his face. Since entering the office, Chase had given his victim’s story to the principal and had been reasonably convincing. Huey was clearly in the wrong as he’d thrown the first blow so when he had to share his story there was little to no defense.

His brothers stood up for him, of course. Explaining that when Chase has been “just talking” he was really picking at whatever he could to get a rise out of the three of them. That had earned Chase a disapproving look but not much else as far as they could tell.

Chase’s mom had arrived seeming thoroughly disappointed in him when she saw the state of Huey’s face. She’d scolded him harshly, using that low cold voice that was scarier than yelling. Donald arrived minutes later looking a bit like a flustered mess. That was understandable, seeing as he’d been called from work with only the knowledge that Huey was in a fight and had been hurt. He had immediately hugged each of his boys, keeping himself from exploding when he saw Huey’s injuries. Huey had tugged his cap lower over his face.

The lid on Donald’s anger was kept tightly screwed down as he took the suspension paperwork from the principal and shook Mrs. Vogel’s hand, accepting her apology and giving one of his own. He stayed silent when Chase protested being given an out of school suspension instead of in-school. The principal explained it was because he drew blood and was the verbal instigator.

The brothers looked at each other in confusion. In their experience, out of school was preferable to sitting in a silent room for the school day doing class work and not getting to eat lunch with friends. However, they weren’t about to push their luck.

As they went to leave the office, Huey turned to Chase and looked up at the taller boy with a frown. “I’m really sorry, Chase.”

Chase folded his arms and scowled. “Whatever, Duck.” His mom gave his arm a sharp tap and he rolled his eyes and grumbled. “‘M sorry, too.”

Donald gave Huey a tight side hug and steered him away after giving Chase’s mom another smile. As they walked to the car, Huey started sniffling again, wiping his sore eyes gingerly. They piled in, Dewey and Louie situating Huey in between them rather than their usual order.

As Donald pulled out of the parking lot, he looked in the rear view mirror to see Dewey and Louie whispering soft comforts to their brother who was silently weeping. He sighed. “Boys…” he started.

Dewey cut him off. “It wasn’t his fault! Chase wouldn’t shut up and he was saying really nasty stuff.” His voice was ragged and Donald saw a redness in his eyes.

“He definitely started it, Uncle Donald,” Louie added. His own eyes were spilling over with tears.

Huey’s voice was quiet but it cut through the air. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

Donald let out some frustrated grumbling. “I’m not asking for excuses or apologies.” He was met by silence. “Huey?” His oldest looked up. “Are you okay?”

Huey wiped his eyes and sniffed. “Yeah…”

“How’s your face?”

“Sore.”

“We’ll get some ice on that when we get home, okay?”

Huey nodded and his brothers stared at their uncle in confusion.

“Wait, what?” Dewey burst. “You’re not gonna read us the riot act?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Uncle Donald?” Louie quipped.

Donald ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Look,” he started, “I’m not angry. Huey?” He glanced in the mirror. “I want to talk to you when we get home.”

Huey nodded and his brothers shared a worried look.

They pulled up the mansion’s driveway and got out of the car. Donald sent a reluctant Dewey and Louie into the mansion and led Huey to sit beside him on the front steps.

Donald sighed and wrapped an arm around Huey’s shoulder. “Huey…what’s going on?”

Huey frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t lost your temper like that in a long time. What happened?”

Huey was silent for a few tense heartbeats before he leaned fully into the hug. “I guess I’ve just been kind of…stressed.”

“Stressed?”

“Yeah. I guess things have been weird at school. A lot of kids have been picking on Dewey and Louie and it’s been really hard not to lose it.”

“Have you talked to your teachers?”

“Yeah. So now it only happens during lunch or during gym.”

“Do they ever pick on you?”

“Well, of course, but I don’t care about that. I care more about my brothers.”

Donald sighed. “Huey, you had such a good streak going there. What could that kid possibly have said to get you that riled up?”

Huey’s shoulders started shaking and his answer was muffled.

“I can’t hear you, kiddo.”

“H-he was talking about you.”

Donald’s brain short circuited and he took a moment to respond. “That’s what set you off?”

Crying was the only response.

It was several minutes before Huey was calm enough to stop crying. Donald turned on the step to place both hands on Huey’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “Huey?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I don’t want you ever putting yourself in danger for me. Do you understand?”

Huey was silent, wiping his eyes. Donald sighed. “Huebert…”

“I’m not going to let some jerk walk all over my family because I’m too scared to stand up.”

Donald rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes. “I know! I know.” He took a deep breath. “Just…please try not to get into any more fights. Can you do that?”

Huey didn’t move.

“Can you just try your best?”

He nodded.

Of the triplets, Donald knew that Dewey was the most like their mom. When it came down to temper, Huey was the most like him. Donald saw it coming from the time Huey was a hatchling. Despite him being a generally good natured kid (unlike Donald himself), when he reached his limit he really went off (exactly like Donald, much to his dismay). It took quite a bit of pushing but it took considerably less when someone else was the target. That was definitely like his mom.

Della would fight someone three times bigger than her to protect someone she didn’t even know. Donald couldn’t count as high as it would take to number every time she got in a fight for him. Donald had been a target. Short, small, never spoke unless absolutely necessary (and then when he did speak, that was another thing to pick on). He’d grown a thick skin after eighteen years of ridicule.

But in his thirties it still didn’t take much to send him over the edge. Huey, at least, had restraint. That was something Donald was grateful for every day.

Donald led Huey inside to the kitchen where he wrapped an ice pack in a towel and gave him the instructions to keep it on for fifteen minutes and to do that once more before bed. Huey nodded silently and took the ice pack with him to his room after giving Donald a tight hug.

Donald slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. He groaned into his hands and pinched at the space between his eyes.

“Oh, Della…” he whispered. “Why’d they have to be so much like us?”


	3. Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> num·ber  
> ˈnəmbər/  
> noun  
> plural noun: numbers  
> 1\. an arithmetical value, expressed by a word, symbol, or figure, representing a particular quantity and used in counting and making calculations and for showing order in a series or for identification.

Donald had always been good with numbers. His father had been an accountant who worked at a large firm as a project manager. He could find a mistake in an income statement by barely glancing at it and once uncovered an embezzling scheme by following a paper trail of errors starting only with a temporary account’s general ledger. Whenever he had to bring work home, Donald wanted to sit with him and watch. His father answered all his questions and sometimes gave him scraps of paper so he could follow along.

Donald always thought there were few things he was good at but numbers were definitely one of them. When his parents passed away and Donald and Della moved in with Grandma, Donald missed going over the books with his dad. So, he asked Grandma if he could help the first day he saw her balancing the checkbook. She’d humored him at first but then found that he was surprisingly good at fitting all the pieces together.

“It’s like a puzzle,” he’d said in his raspy voice, yet to get stronger but becoming easier to understand.

Grandma let Donald help with the books until the summer when the numbers were getting frighteningly smaller. Gladstone had moved in as well by then and the recession was hitting the rural communities hard. It had been decided that Donald and Della would do better living with their Uncle Scrooge and so that’s what they did.

Donald caught Scrooge at the kitchen table one night pouring over a stack of papers. He saw his uncle punching away at a calculator that printed a smattering of numbers onto a slim roll of paper. He was grumbling to himself in a frustrated voice, tapping his pencil against his beak.

“Uncle Scrooge?” Donald said quietly.

Scrooge startled. “Donald! Ye gave me a fright, laddie. What are yoo doin’ out of bed?”

Donald walked over and climbed into the chair next to his uncle. He stared at the papers in interest. “I couldn’t sleep so I was going to get a glass of water. What are you working on?”

Scrooge waved his hand almost dismissively. “Ah, it’s just some book keeping.”

Donald leaned forward, eyeing the calculations and charts on the table. “Is it a bank reconciliation?”

Scrooge looked up in surprised. “Er, yes. It is. Wha’ do yoo know about bank reconciliations?”

Donald looked down at his feet, fidgeting with the bottom of his pajama shirt. “Uh…I used to sit with Dad when he worked at home.”

Scrooge’s eyes softened. “I see. Well…did yoo learn anything’?”

Donald nodded, looking back up. “It’s fun.”

Scrooge laughed. “Fun? Well, tha’s one word fer it, I suppose.” He shuffled through some papers and jotted down a note next to one of the items. He sighed, mumbling to himself. “It’s nae as fun when yoo’ve been searching for a missing twelve dollars for half an hour.”

Donald leaned over the table and looked at the reconciliation. He stared for a moment at the list of outstanding checks. “If you move the error check in book balance to an addition instead of a deduction and then enter check three-zero-three-one to the bank balance deductions…that might help.”

Scrooge stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh, really?” he asked.

Donald shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

Scrooge worked out the balances on a scrap paper and sat back in his chair, stunned. “Well, I’ll be damned,” said. He grinned at his nephew who looked down shyly. “Yoo’ve got a head fer numbers, doontcha, laddie?”

Donald shrugged, smiling softly to himself. “I like them.”

“Well, tha’ makes one o’ us, boyo.” Scrooge stood up and walked to his cabinets. “How would yoo fancy a cup o’ cocoa?”

Donald looked up in surprise, his brow furrowing. “Um…sure?”

That night started a long tradition of Donald helping Scrooge with the books when there was a problem he couldn’t quite crack. He missed those nights when he joined the Naval Academy. He earned a dual degree in accounting and finance but somehow was assigned on the unrestricted line. After being honorably discharged before his contracted service ended (for a reason he never talked about), he was Scrooge’s personal accountant for several years. He still went on adventures, of course, and was now especially invested in the cost of each excursion. Despite his horrible luck and all the things he didn’t share, life was as wonderful as it could be.

Then everything went wrong.

 

For Dewey, numbers were another reason to hate school. He’d been stuck in remedial math since grade four and he didn’t see an end in sight to the dark basement classes with kids who were mean and teachers who were meaner. Numbers didn’t make sense unless he thought about the numbers that were never big enough to buy Uncle Donald birthday presents.

Numbers were most important when used for counting when it came to Huey. Breathing counts to keep control were of utmost importance. Control of his anger, his anxiety, his sadness, he had a count for it all. As the years marched on, it felt like all he ever did was count.

Now, Louie had always been good with numbers. The night that Louie had wandered into the kitchen and asked what Donald was working on felt like the most jarring kind of déjà vu. So, he told Louie he was working on balancing the checkbook. Louie started appearing whenever Donald was working the finances. Donald saw a spark of interest in Louie’s eyes that was rarely there. He started walking Louie through what he was doing, explaining all his steps and answering all Louie’s questions. It was more often than not, though, that Donald diverted Louie’s interest elsewhere so he wouldn’t see the numbers. He didn’t want his kid to know just how slim they were living.

Donald didn’t know, of course, that Louie was even sneakier than he thought. He could pick up when Donald was trying to distract him and of course that meant he was going to go through the books when Donald was sleeping. It meant he started from an early age scheming ways to make money he could sneak into Uncle Donald’s wallet. It was a series of blackmailing plots and selling old math homework answers. He collected cans and bottles and took them to the recycling center so he could drop some change into the couch ‘find’ when they needed it.

He kept his own record of the money he made because he figured it was important to be aware of what money was going to Uncle Donald and what money he was tucking away for emergencies. Louie and his brothers didn’t talk about money except maybe if they were hiding field trip permission slips and activity fee forms so Donald didn’t have to think about what his boys were missing out on.

Louie certainly had a thing for numbers so it only served to fuel his frustration when they never seemed to add up


	4. Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> un·der·ground  
> adverb  
> ˈəndərˌɡround/  
> 1\. beneath the surface of the ground.

It was dark. He couldn’t quite tell if his eyes were open or closed but his attempts to blink seemed to require more effort than he expected. He realized his orientation was horizontal to the ground when he felt rough points of stone beneath his fingertips and against his cheek. Slowly, his senses seemed to come back from wherever it was they’d been floating and he felt an overwhelming pain starting in his head and traveling over his whole body.

He gathered up the courage to prop himself onto his elbows and did so slowly and carefully. When he turned his head to find some source of light, it felt like the whole world was trying to buck him off its surface and he whined softly, letting his head drop between his shoulders.

“Huey?!” a familiar voice exclaimed sharply beside him. He winced, ears ringing at the volume, and responded.

“Y-yeah?”

“Oh, thank god,” the voice said and suddenly the area was flooded in light.

Huey hid his face in the crook of his elbow, crying out in surprise at the light and surprise at the pain it caused. His head was swimming at the sudden movement and he felt his stomach lurch.

A hand was placed gently on his back. “Huey? Are you okay?”

Huey slowly pieced together why the voice was so familiar—it belonged to his brother.

“D…Dewey?” he asked hesitantly.

The hand rubbed his back in a way that was comforting. Whether the comfort was for him or the owner of the hand couldn’t be determined. “Yeah, it’s Dewey. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Huey tried to sit up and found it alarmingly difficult. Dewey helped him to settle against his side. Huey’s head felt like it weight a thousand pounds. “U-uh…yeah, I think I’m hurt.”

Dewey set down his flashlight so it pointed away from them and held his brother closer. “O-oh. What’s hurt?”

“My…my head.” Huey closed his eyes and touched where his forehead felt like it was burning. His fingers felt something warm and wet. “What happened? Where are we?”

Dewey’s heart was racing. “W-we were exploring the F-floral Caverns with Uncle Scrooge. Something happened a-and we fell somewhere.”

Huey took a moment to answer but when the information finally registered, he turned quickly towards Dewey and grabbed his arm, panic in his eyes. “Are you okay?!” he asked forcefully. He slumped forward into Dewey’s shoulder when another wave of dizziness hit. He groaned softly, his grip on Dewey tightening.

The other boy felt tears filling his eyes. “Y-yeah, no, I’m fine! I’m more worried about you!” A sob burst out of his throat and Huey pushed himself upright to look Dewey in the eye.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You might be in shock. Does anything feel broken?”

Dewey shook his head. “No, I’m okay, I’m okay. The worst I got was bruises.” The tears kept falling and he swiped at his eyes. The fear was building in his chest from the constant background since they fell to a new extreme at the unfocused, glazed look in Huey’s eyes. He swallowed hard, seeing a dust-caked splotch of blood trailing down his brother’s forehead. “Hey, I should patch up your head. You’re bleeding.”

Huey started trying to stand up and Dewey immediately tried to stop him “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don’t think you should be getting up!”

Huey weakly tried to shake him off. “No, it’s fine. We need to try and nail down our position so we can tell Uncle Scrooge where we are. Did you call him?”

Dewey sniffed and stood by his brother, holding his arm protectively. “Yeah, I did, but our walkie’s battery is dying so we couldn’t keep talking until he found a way down.”

Huey pointed at his brother although a bit too far to the right. “Junior Woodchuck Rule Number seventy two: extra batteries means an extra life! Now where’s my backpack?”

“…did you just make that up?”

“I don’t know. Where’s my backpack?”

Dewey leaned down and picked up the backpack that had fallen off his brother in their tumble down the slope. Huey dug through it while swaying heavily and pulled out a pack of batteries. “There we go! Put those in and call Uncle Scrooge to see what his progress is.”

Dewey hesitantly let go of his brother and moved to his own pack where he pulled out the walkie talkie. There was the sound of shuffling briefly before Dewey heard his brother say a quiet “oh no” before vomiting impressively onto the stony ground. The walkie forgotten, Dewey rushed to his brother’s side and grabbed his arm to keep him from tipping over as his knees seemed to buckle. Dewey pulled him away from the new puddle of barf as soon as he was done and settled Huey against a large boulder. Huey coughed and breathed shakily.

“Wow,” he said, “I guess you were right.”

“Jeez, Hue…”

Dewey sat next to his brother and finished changing the batteries in his walkie with hands that were shaking. When he was done, he tuned back into their channel and pressed the button to speak.

“Uncle Scrooge?”

“Dewey! How are ye, lad? How’s Huey?”

Huey leaned over to the walkie, slumping a little too far into Dewey’s lap. “Hi, Uncle Scrooge!”

“Huey! How are ye feeling?”

“Terrible!”

“Wonderful. Dewey?”

“Yeah?”

“Wha’s wrong with yer brother?”

“H-he hit h-his head. Um…wait, you knew that. U-uh…I don’t know. He’s just been really weird since he woke up.”

“Probably a concussion, laddie. He’s goin’ ta be just fine. Now, I’ve made me way doon the cavern with Louie and Webby so you boys just sit tight an’ I’ll be there right quick. Have yer flashlight on an’ answer me when I call.”

Dewey sniffled. “O-okay.”

The walkie crackled into silence and Dewey looked down at his brother leaning against his shoulder. Huey had his eyes shut and Dewey’s heart leaped into his throat. “Huey?”

“Yeah?” The response was slow and slurred.

“You alright?”

“I’m…really sleepy.”

Dewey took a deep breath and pulled the first-aid kit out of Huey’s backpack. “Well, don’t go to sleep just yet. I need to clean off your cut.”

Huey nodded slowly, his eyes blinking open. He barely reacted when Dewey arranged him against the boulder they’d used as a back rest and began dabbing antiseptic into the wound. There was a small wince with each dab but only after most of the dust had been cleared away. “That hurts…” he whispered, sounding impossibly small to Dewey.

“I-I know, Hue, but it has to be clean.” He smiled although he wasn’t sure it was quite registering with his brother. “On the plus side, it’s not bleeding anymore.”

Huey pumped a fist weakly in the air. “Woo!”

“Boys?!” a call echoed off the walls.

Dewey sprang to his feet. “Uncle Scrooge! We’re over here!”

Huey winced, closing his eyes again and covering his ears. Dewey frowned in sympathy and stepped further away from his brother, picking up the flashlight and waving it wildly around the cavern, hoping it would help Uncle Scrooge see them.

Soon, between yelling and flashlight waving, Scrooge found them. He looked over Dewey briefly to be sure he really was alright before he knelt by Huey and put his hands on his shoulders. “Lad? You with us?”

Huey opened his eyes, squinting against the light. “Y-yeah.”

“Is yer head all tha’ hurts?”

Huey took a moment to think. “It hurts the worst.”

Scrooge sighed, his brow deeply furrowed.

Huey looked up at him, eyes glistening. “Can we go home?”

Scrooge’s expression softened. “Of course, laddie.”

The trek back up through the caverns was less eventful, thankfully, with Scrooge carrying Huey against his chest. Webby and Louie sandwiched Dewey between him while he tried to stop his sniffling. Louie had already started crying but was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t.

Making the trip back on the plane was tense. Huey was curled up in Scrooge’s lap looking dead to the world and the rest of the kids were all snotty, sniffling messes.

Webby softly said what they were all thinking.

“Caverns aren’t as fun as I thought they’d be.”


	5. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> miss·ing  
> ˈmisiNG/  
> adjective  
> (of a thing) not able to be found because it is not in its expected place.

He was looking for something. The only problem was that he absolutely no idea what it was he was searching for. The only clue he had to go on was the hole in his chest where something was supposed to fit but he had no inkling as to what it could be. Something was missing that made him quick to tears and isolating himself. Something was missing that would have made him less of a mess.

When they were all younger, still crawling into bed with each other despite how difficult it was to fit three growing boys in one bunk, he would often wake up with tears in his eyes and a feeling of absolute loss and panic. Of course, he would jolt awake in a way that woke his brothers and he would soon be folded into the most comforting hugs matched with gentle reassurances that “everything is going to be okay, Lou.”

Louie was a sensitive kid. He knew that, his brothers knew that, and his Uncle Donald certainly knew that, too. Where Huey would explode when frustrated and unleash his temper on whatever close to him could break, Louie would shrink into himself and cry. Where Dewey would run his mouth at whatever bully decided to pick on them that day, Louie would ignore them and shrug at their words that were chiseled into his heart where he’d think about them for weeks to come. Lately while lying in bed at night he could feel tears starting to work their way out of his eyes and he had no idea why. He thought he had gotten good enough at shutting off his brain so that didn’t happen anymore but maybe he was wrong.

Some days he felt that hole in his chest all the more strongly while he tried to trudge through the day without worrying anybody. He’d crack wise about being lazy to divert the attention away from how he wasn’t actually paying attention to the TV show that was playing. He’d follow his brothers aimlessly through their games and activities, clearly participating but not quite contributing. He would complain about the chores Uncle Donald asked him to do to cover up the fact that it was genuinely difficult to make himself move. Something was clearly missing and it was something that could make him function like a productive member of society.

He realized more consciously that something was missing when he got older and his brothers started having interests of their own. Dewey threw himself into every playground sport he could at recess while Huey sat under trees and wrote in the margins of his Junior Woodchucks Guidebook. Dewey loved listening to music and being involved in every theatre production their school had to offer. Huey was the president of the academic games team and the environmental science club. Louie barely enjoyed the things he used to enjoy anymore. Frankly, he could barely remember what those things used to be.

Sure, he was distinguishable from his brothers despite what other kids liked to poke fun at. He was a smooth talker and a con artist. He could convince a teacher to move a test “for the sake of the class” and turn pop quizzes into group quizzes just by being persuasive. He always had a witty comeback and was known as the most chill of the triplets. He got decent grades and let other kids look off his homework. Granted, no one ever wanted to work in a group project with him because he would inevitably be a no show on the day his group was to present. He would do all the work his group asked of him except go through with presenting. The only times it seemed he would show up were when one or both of his brothers were his partners. Even then all he did was change the PowerPoint slides with one hand shoved deep in a hoodie pocket and his eyes trained on the floor. This added to his reputation as the lazy one and he was more than happy to let that be the case because the alternative was letting the whole class know about his crippling stage fright. He thought often that whatever was missing maybe would have kept him from freezing up when he had to look at a group of more than three people and speak. He didn’t consider it too strongly, though, because that was a different kind of hurt.

He started to figure out that the times he felt the hole in his chest the most strongly was whenever he was away from his brothers or Uncle Donald for longer than was usual. Days when Uncle Donald had a longer shift than normal and his brothers had after school activities to attend. Days when his brothers were sick and he had to go to school by himself. Days when he got detention for sharing homework answers and his brothers couldn’t manage to get in trouble by the end of the day. Those times were when the feeling he could never describe came closer to comprehension. It felt a little like loneliness. Although, he never thought that loneliness was supposed to hurt so badly.

-         

           It was late. Very late. Or perhaps it was considered early when on the other side of midnight. Regardless, it was largely unreasonable for Louie to be standing outside his brother’s bedroom door and he understood that. Against all odds, there he was, standing outside the door as he had been for nearly five minutes.

           He hadn’t been able to fall asleep. It seemed that the exhaustion he felt was real enough but something was missing. Something important enough to keep him tossing and turning for hours. It had been taking him longer to fall asleep ever since moving into the mansion and having his own room rather than sharing one with his brothers. He never thought he’d miss the sounds of Huey’s mouth-breathing or Dewey’s senseless mumbling but he supposed it had become a sort of lullaby after all those years. It had been a few weeks since they’d made the move but this night the silence was unbearable. The hole in his chest was pulsing painfully. After contemplating it for half an hour, he finally convinced himself that there was no shame in seeking solace in the company of one of his brothers.

           He took a deep breath and opened Huey’s door, entering his room and closing the door behind him. He only took a few steps towards his brother’s bed when Huey suddenly popped up off his mattress looking only half awake and thoroughly disoriented. Louie stopped walking and waited for his brother to notice him. Huey turned to look towards the door, head feathers in utter disarray, and squinted through the dark.

           “Louie?” he whispered.

           Louie brought his shoulders up by his chin, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “Yeah,” he whispered back.

           Huey sat up fully, a furrow of worry in his brow. “What’s the matter?”

           Louie shrugged and walked to the end of Huey’s bed, climbing on and folding his arms. “Can’t sleep.”

           Huey rubbed his eyes. “Did you have a bad dream?” Louie shook his head, staring at the bedsheets. “Then what’s up?”

           Louie shrugged again, feeling tears starting to press out from behind his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face.

           Huey’s eyes softened and he shifted over in his bed. “Do you wanna sleep here tonight?”

           Louie nodded and immediately crawled over to the space Huey made and curled up under the sheets. He hid his face in the pillow and tried his best not to start sobbing. The hole in his chest was yelling at him to fill it.

           The door swung open and their middle brother stumbled into the room, closing the door behind him. He yawned and walked over to Huey’s bed, immediately climbing onto the mattress on Louie’s other side.

           “Dewey? What are you doing?”

           Dewey, his normally intricately styled hair flopping against his forehead, shifted the blankets to better cover both him and Louie. “I heard you guys talking and figured I’d join the sleepover.”

           Huey shrugged. “Okay. Glad this bed is bigger than on the houseboat, though.”

           Dewey yawned loudly. “Oh, heck to the yeah, broseph.” He curled up against Louie’s back.

           Louie felt the warmth of his brother adjusting his position and his breath stirring the feathers on the back of his neck. Huey settled himself so that Louie’s head was resting against his chest and then reached his arm around to hug both of his brothers. The swelling feeling of love and warmth and the staggering realness of his brothers beside him started in his stomach and filled his head. Louie felt the tears spilling out of his eyes with a frightening quickness. The hole in his chest suddenly felt less empty in a way that was overwhelming.

           Dewey and Huey were startled by the sob that broke out of their brother when the both of them were drifting off to sleep. They immediately adjusted their positions in the bed to fully embrace their little brother. They had learned that Louie felt the safest when he had all sides covered and so that’s what they did. They were worried, of course, because they would always worry when their brother burst into tears regardless of the reason. They also knew that sometimes the only thing they could do was be present.

           They whispered small comforts, not asking what was wrong or what happened to make him cry, and for that Louie was grateful. He could barely explain it himself. All he knew was that spending nights alone in a big empty room had carved even more space out of his chest. He hadn’t noticed how often it ached until it started filling.

           With his brothers being there with him it felt like the hole in his chest was stitching itself closed. It hurt. It felt like a sharp, hot needle was working its way through his heart but the longer his brothers hugged him and told him that everything was going to be alright…the more the pain numbed.

           He didn’t know what was missing but he did know that whatever it was could be ignored when he wasn’t so alone.


	6. Admiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ad·mi·ra·tion  
> ˌadməˈrāSH(ə)n/  
> noun  
> respect and warm approval.

Huey looked up to Donald from the day he had a presence of mind. His uncle was the big, warm, golden glow of comfort and security that Huey could always crawl into bed with. Uncle Donald was the strong, resilient presence of what it meant to do your best. Huey inherited many things from his uncle amongst personality and looks including the extra wrinkle by his left eyebrow when he furrowed his brow in worry.

Huey knew that Donald was a worrier. Huey was a worrier, too. Where Donald did his best to keep their lives in a semblance of order, Huey went the extra mile. As a toddler, he loved his little matchbox cars and trucks and their correct order was a must. Huey would sit and line them up, straight and aligned, and try to play with them all at once. A four-year-old Huey once asked Donald to line up his cars while he went to get Louie’s blankie for him. Donald, of course, lined them up all straight and tidy while he waited for Huey to come back. After Huey wrapped his baby brother in his blanket and gave him a kiss on the cheek, he turned to his uncle and planted his tiny fists on his hips.

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Unca Donald! That’s not how they go!” He knelt on the floor by the line of cars and started meticulously rearranging them to an order Donald couldn’t see. From that moment forward, Donald paid very close attention to how Huey liked things to be. He learned the order of the cars and trucks, how Huey _had_ to wear his hat, and that his little boy’s temper exploded with something didn’t go to plan.

Huey realized when he was ten-years-old that he was far more particular than either of his brothers or any of the other kids at school. He had a plan that he intended to stick to at all times with spaces he could slip in the hijinks he and his brothers often got up to. His bedtime routine included laying out his clothes for the next day, packing his backpack with all of his homework in its correct folder. His wake-up routine was rigid and included waking up far before his brothers to get into the bathroom first to avoid the inevitable scrambling for space that would occur. He’d then check that he had done all of his homework again before it was time to catch the bus (where he would check his homework again and once more during homeroom).

Although, Uncle Donald didn’t always follow the routine. Some mornings were hectic and full of hiccups that made Huey feel a little more anxious than usual. Well, to be honest, most mornings were like that. So the usual level of anxiety was typically rather high. Sometimes, though, the upset in routine was enough to be _too much_ and Uncle Donald would stop whatever he was doing to make sure Huey was okay.

Huey started taking notice of those moments because they were frequent. Whenever he or his brothers needed a little extra attention, Donald was there. When Louie was having a hard time getting out of bed, Donald took an extra few minutes to sit on the floor by his bunk and reason his way through why it would be beneficial for Louie to go to school. When Dewey was frustrated with his math homework and Louie didn’t have the time to help, Donald was next to him at the kitchen table organizing his papers and walking him through each problem. When Huey had a bad night where he couldn’t fall asleep because his mind wouldn’t stop racing, Donald always seemed to be awake already to let Huey get into bed with him.

Huey absolutely adored his uncle. When he could have passed off his sister’s kids to anyone else, he'd dropped everything in his life to take them in. They didn’t know much about Donald’s life before them. Donald didn’t talk much about it. He talked about how he had degrees from the Naval Academy. He talked about how he served for several years of active duty before the boys were born. He talked about how he got in a lot of fights when he was in high school and middle school and elementary school. Grandma Elvira always joked that Donald hatched already shadowboxing. There was no proof, of course, but the boys had no reason not to believe her.

They enjoyed the stories that their grandma would tell of Donald getting into mischief as a child. The stories were lively and fun and gave the boys all sorts of ideas about how to get into trouble the next time around. Every story told, however, felt like it was missing a piece. An empty spot was found in each retelling despite Grandma's artful dodging in her words. There was someone missing from the cast of characters but the boys didn't take the time to worry about it.

Every Mother’s Day and Father’s Day from kindergarten onward was an awkward confusing time for the boys but they managed for the most part.

“Ms. Wheeler, we don’t have a mom,” Huey would say bluntly as his brothers pretended they weren’t there.

“How…about a grandmother?”

“We have a great-grandma.”

“How about you make your card for her?”

Father’s Day was easier to navigate.

“We don’t have a dad.”

“How about a grandfather?”

“No.”

“…an uncle?”

“Oh! We have one of those!” And so the boys would set to work making a card covered in every bit of craft supplies their teacher had to offer. 

And their cards didn’t say “Happy Father’s Day” because Donald didn’t want to be called “dad.” He was Uncle Donald. Instead, they'd write in bold, colorful letters, "Thank You."

Huey knew, though, that Donald was his dad. Maybe not by blood, but certainly by heart. Donald was the reason that when Huey figured out what a dad was, he looked at Donald and said, “Yup, that’s a dad. I wanna be that.” In the second grade they did a poster project on what they wanted to be when they grew up. Dewey did his project on being an international spy. Louie did his project on being a hedge fund manager. Huey did his on being a father.

Donald asked his oldest what made him do his project on being a dad, of all things. Huey got a little quiet, a little shy, and said, “Well, you seem to really like it. And you’re good at it. So, I wanna be like you.”

Huey admired his uncle with the blind faith of a child and even as the years passed, that blind faith never changed. Nothing was ever done to change it. Huey counted on Uncle Donald's unwavering commitment to his family and used it as a compass. Any time of day, any day of the week, no matter what else was going on, Uncle Donald would be there for his boys. 

Huey wanted nothing more to be like that. 


End file.
